


These Nightmares Don't Belong To Me

by EndlessNepenthe



Series: We're Both a Little Broken, But Together We'll Fill In The Cracks [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Clingy Peter Parker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Nightmares (but not really), Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Please protect Tony and Peter, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sleepy Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Worried Tony Stark, very very soft, why is that a tag I feel bad for Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessNepenthe/pseuds/EndlessNepenthe
Summary: Peter and Tony are hit by a weird light when they battle a few creatures who definitely aren’t from Earth, but strangely enough, it doesn’t seem to affect them. Tony, ever the cautious and curious person, decides they should monitor themselves for any strange behaviour over the next 24 hours.





	1. Reason For Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's part will be coming soon! I can't believe I'm writing soft Tony and Peter interactions instead of studying for any of my courses LOL. Just mild angst and a lot of worried Tony ahead!

“I can close it. Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down.” _I know that voice, that’s Black Widow._

“Do it!” _Captain America?_

“No, wait.” _Mr. Stark?_

“Stark, these things are still coming!” _What are still coming? What’s happening?_

“I’ve got a nuke coming in, it’s gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.” _A nuke?!_

The Iron Man suit flies after the giant white missile, attaching itself to the bottom. _Am I Mr. Stark? What’s going on?_

“Stark, you know that’s a one way trip.” _What’s Captain America saying? Wait, am I going to going into that hole in the sky with the nuke?_

“Save the rest for the turn, J.” _Peter sees red holograms inside the Iron Man helmet, through what he knows are Tony’s eyes. They’re supposed to be blue, why are they red?_

“Sir. Shall I try Ms. Potts?” _A small photo of Pepper Potts appears. Peter’s gaze jumps and catches on the photo for a moment before it is pulled away, and Tony’s thoughts echo in Peter’s head:_ **Pepper. I hope she’s okay.**

“Might as well.” **I won’t survive this, anyway.** _Wait! What’s happening, Mr. Stark is going to die? I’m going to be Mr. Stark as he dies?!_

The word _Calling…_ appears above Pepper’s photo, as Iron Man soars through the sky, pulled forward by the nuclear missile. **Just a little more… Now!** Extra repulsors fire from the back of the Iron Man suit, and the new source of propulsion forces the missile upward. _Peter feels Tony grit his teeth together, brows pushing together in furious determination._ **I have to do this. It will work.**

The Stark tower comes closer and closer with each second, and just before Iron Man smashes through the building, it tips sharply upward, bouncing off the very top of the tower before rocketing towards the hole in the sky, following the beam of light that goes straight up. _Peter can only see what Tony’s eyes see, but Tony is resolutely looking straight forward, into the dark hole in the sky._ **Once I go through that, that’s it for me.**

Iron Man flies through the hole in the sky, still carrying the nuclear missile. _Peter sees the giant spaceship base of the Chitauri, floating in space._ **Pep’s not picking up.** _Peter feels Tony’s sorrow and resignation like a tidal wave crashing against the shore._ **Guess this is it.**

 _Tony gasps._ The words _Call failed_ appears above Pepper’s photo. _All the red fizzes and glitches, disappearing in front of Peter’s (Tony’s) eyes. Tony exhales sharply._ **No!** _Pepper’s photo is the last thing that remains before it too disappears._ The Iron Man suit shuts down, detaching from the nuclear missile and falling backward as the missile continues forward.

 _Peter automatically tries to take another breath, but Tony’s body has no air to breathe in space, and neither does Tony try. Even as Peter panics in his mind - I’m, Tony’s, going to die! - Tony’s mind is calm, resigned. Tony’s body is shutting down, but Tony forces his eyes to remain open, to see the end, watching as the Chitauri ships are blown away from existence. An old memory surfaces - Tony saying “I shouldn’t be alive. Unless it was for a reason.” - and Tony’s mind whispers,_ **I guess this is the reason.** _Peter feels a sudden urge from Tony to smile in victory, but Tony doesn’t even have the strength to keep his eyes open anymore._ **Earth’s safe. Pepper’s safe. My reason is over.** _Tony’s eyes fall shut._

 

“Tony!” Peter screams, throwing himself out of the bed he is suddenly in, landing on the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. He crawls on all fours towards the door until he finds the strength to push himself to his feet, stumbling out of the room and hitting the wall of the hallway.

_Have to find him have to find him have to find him_

Peter pushes himself away from the wall, breaths coming fast and panicked.

_Where where where where where_

He hunches over in the middle of the hallway, wrapping his arms around himself. Peter’s vision swims and he shakes his head viciously, trying to force his breathing to stabilize.

“Kid, calm down.”

_He's here? He's here he's here he's here_

Gentle hands settle on Peter’s shoulders, and Tony murmurs, “Hey, I’m here. It’s me. Calm down, kid.”

Peter’s head whips up, eyes wild. Dropping his arms from around himself, Peter wraps a hand around each of Tony’s forearms, squeezing hard enough for Tony to wince. “Mr. Stark,” Peter chokes out, head dropping down again as he struggles to calm his breaths.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Calm down, breathe with me,” Tony coaxes, lightly squeezing Peter’s shoulders.

Breathing along with Tony’s greatly exaggerated breaths, Peter gradually begins breathing normally again, comforted by Tony’s presence.

Peter pants, breaths evening, and raises his head. His brown eyes wander over Tony’s face, barely blinking, mapping every single detail, like he was trying to memorize how Tony looked. He takes in Tony’s short hair, messily ruffled from sleep; Tony’s eyebrows, anxiously furrowed; Tony’s lips, downturned in concern; Tony’s eyes, the depths of which are swimming with anxiety, fear, worry, and a little confusion as he watches Peter. It takes Peter a few long moments of awkwardly staring into Tony’s bewildered eyes before he registers the feeling of tense muscles underneath his fingers; he releases Tony’s arms with a gasp, nervously wringing his hands together as he avoids Tony’s questioning gaze.

“Hey,” Tony whispers, “You back with me?”

“Mr. Stark, I’m sor--” Peter exhales in a rush.

“Hey, hey. None of that. Let’s go to my room, yeah? Not the best idea, hanging out here in the hallway,” Tony says, "You gave me quite a scare there, kiddo. Don’t worry, I’m here now, I’ll fight the monsters for you.” Tony continues rambling on as he slowly leads Peter back to his room, eagerly trying to fill in the unusual silence from Peter.

He’s so focused on making sure Peter doesn’t bump into or trip over anything, it isn’t until they reach Tony’s bed and Tony turns to Peter, words dying on his lips, finally seeing the tears rolling down the teenager’s flushed cheeks. “Oh. Oh no, kid, what’s wrong?”

Peter inhales, opening his mouth to reply. He sees Tony’s wide, worried eyes and lowers his own to the floor, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his tears flow harder.

“Nope, don’t do that.” Tony taps Peter’s chin with a light finger, watching as Peter hesitates before he slowly opens his mouth, exhaling a soft sob. “What’s with the waterworks, Spider-kid?” Tony weakly jokes, praying for Peter to laugh.

Peter doesn’t laugh.

“Okay. That’s not going to work.” Tony nods his head, brain working furiously to form a plan. “Okay.”

  1. **Lockdown. Keep Peter safe.**



_Alright. That’s easy enough to do._

“FRI, no one comes in unless I say so.”

“Understood.” The lock of the door slides home with a soft _click._

Peter sniffles softly, and Tony’s brain shuts down, all thoughts replaced with _Comfort the kid. Now._

_Great plan. Now what do I do?!_

Tony subconsciously taps his fingers against his thigh as his eyes scan the room, jumping nervously over Peter’s form huddled at the side of Tony’s bed.

_Okay. Peter first._

Tony carefully approaches Peter. “Pete, can you do something for me?”

Peter raises red, watery round eyes to Tony’s, blinking owlishly.

“Can you get in there? Make yourself comfortable,” Tony coos, nodding encouragingly at the large bed.

Peter sniffs, dragging a hand across his cheeks, and crawls under the comforter on Tony’s bed, curling himself into a small ball around one of Tony’s pillows. Tony feels his heart soften when he realizes Peter had unconsciously gravitated towards where Tony had been laying just minutes ago, and had chosen the one pillow Tony had always used.

_Okay Tony, stop being soft and get yourself in there._

Tony runs around the room as quickly and quietly as he can, frantically grabbing a bunch of his black tank tops from his stash in the closet, a box of 3 ply tissues and a fluffy towel from the bathroom, and two of the softest blankets from his collection of extras. Pausing by the bed with his arms and hands full, Tony squints in alarm, sighing in relief when his eyes make out a tiny huddled lump under his comforter. “Pete?”

Pale hands emerge, pushing clumsily at the comforter until Peter’s tear streaked face is uncovered, peering up at Tony. Even as more tears flow down his cheeks like an endless river, Peter narrows his eyes at Tony, who pops his head out beside the huge bundle in his arms and cautiously smiles at Peter.

Tony sighs in exaggerated relief as he dumps everything he had been carrying onto the bed beside Peter. “Those blankets are not light.”

Peter tips a corner of his lips upward in a tiny brief smile when Tony frowns.

“Night light mode, FRI.”

FRIDAY doesn’t respond, but the bright overhead lights turn off, replaced by soft orange glowing from the baseboard trim lining the bottom of the walls.

“Sit up for me?” Tony requests gently, and Peter unfurls from his ball like a flower bud blooming.

Pushing himself into a seated position, Peter paws at his eyes, making a noticeable effort to staunch his tears.

“So,” Tony hums, throwing a blanket over the massive pile of pillows at the headboard of his bed. Due to the arc reactor, Tony had spent more than just a few nights propped up against the pillows, grimacing and trying to relieve the pain in his chest, caused by the one thing keeping him alive. Carelessly, he throws everything else to the top of the mountain, the blanket serving to prevent anything from falling in between the pillows. “Kid.”

Peter stares down at his lap, where his hands are squeezing Tony’s pillow, stubbornly pressing his lips together.

Leaning back against the pillows, Tony pushes away his urge to prod Peter until the teenager tells him what was going on. “You don’t want to tell me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew the answer, but Tony wanted to give Peter one more chance to tell him, if Peter wanted to.

Flinching at Tony’s words, Peter shrinks in on himself, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

Tony inhales and exhales a slow, calming breath. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Peter’s head whips up, and the instant he makes eye contact with Tony, tears are welling up in his soft brown eyes again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Tony continues, “I have a feeling that you’re refusing because I’m the reason.”

Pressing his hands to his mouth to stifle his sob, Peter shakes his head so vehemently, it only tells Tony exactly what he needed to know.

Tony blinks, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, viciously shoving away his urge to cry. “I’m sorry, kid. It’s my fault. But I promise you’re safe here.” His voice betrays him, shaking whenever he inhales.

Peter immediately crawls over to Tony, practically throwing himself at the billionaire. Tony hesitantly sets a hand on the back of Peter’s head, smoothing down his adorably unruly brown curls.

“Not your fault,” Peter sniffles, and Tony feels tears soaking into his shirt.

“But it is,” Tony murmurs, tipping his head back to stare at the blank ceiling, desperately searching his brain for any way he could comfort Peter.

Shaking his head, Peter sobs into Tony’s shoulder. Tony doesn’t know if Peter can hear anything over his soft whimpers and sniffling sobs, but he does it anyway, whispering _You’re okay, you’re alright_ in an endless loop as he runs his hand over Peter’s hair and back in soothing motions.

Peter cries so hard he could barely breathe, gasping in choked breaths, a hand fisting in Tony’s shirt so tightly that it actually rips.

Tony can’t find it in him to care about the shirt. _I’ll happily give away as many shirts as it takes, if it’ll stop me from hurting the one person I never wanted to see hurt._

What seems like an agonizingly long eternity later, Peter’s cries slowly become more subdued. Tony realizes that Peter has hit the point where he cried so much that he ran out of tears, but that doesn’t stop the heartbreaking dry sobs and shuddering breaths the teenager struggles to take.

Peter shakes like a dry leaf caught in a strong wind, turning his face to press his cheek against Tony’s chest. Tenderly, Tony runs a calloused thumb over Peter’s cheek, wiping at the wet tracks.

“You’re alright,” Tony whispers again, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

Peter sniffs wetly. “Can I get a tissue?”

“Of course.” Tony pats around the top of the mountain of pillows, pushing aside some unidentified fabric (probably the extra blanket) to find the tissue box.

Peter blows his nose multiple times, and Tony carefully uses the towel to wipe at Peter’s face. Tony smiles when Peter weakly bats at the towel, fondly pestering Peter for a few more seconds; when Peter emerges from the towel, Tony grins at the sulky pout sitting on Peter’s lips.

“Better?”

Peter blinks.

_Mr. Stark did all this to make me feel better?_

Tony’s face falls when Peter’s eyes go glossy with fresh unshed tears.

“No?” Tony weakly asks. He notices Peter eyeing his shirt with a sorrowful expression. “Oh. Give me a second.”

Pulling his damp and torn shirt over his head, Tony grabs one of his black tank tops, hastily sliding it on. Peter fidgets nervously before seemingly making up his mind; he wiggles closer to Tony, tucking his face into the billionaire’s neck, gentle exhales warm against the delicate skin. Humming a surprised sound, Tony settles an arm around Peter’s waist, resting his cheek on the teenager’s head.

While Peter falls asleep in record time, exhausted from his emotional breakdown, Tony remains awake. It was the very first time Peter had ever addressed him as _Tony_ instead of _Mr. Stark,_ and that in itself was alarming, considering Peter had woken up screaming. Tony spends a good hour worrying about what might have caused Peter to react so strongly, but ultimately comes up with nothing, glaring at the ceiling in his frustration as his thoughts churn uselessly.

Since he wasn’t getting anywhere with his worries, Tony decides he might as well be more productive than staring at the ceiling. With great difficulty and an enormous amount of anxiety, Tony fishes his phone out of his pocket, freezing every single time Peter shifts restlessly in his sleep. He sets the device on the bed beside him, using himself as a barrier between Peter and the icy blue glow of the projected holograms. Working with one hand is slow and tedious, but Tony finds that it doesn’t bother him as much as it would’ve if Peter wasn’t there. Although he knows it’s an irrational fear, it doesn’t stop Tony from periodically checking that Peter was sleeping soundly and breathing properly; he even goes so far as to drape the extra blanket over the teenager’s curled form, fretting that maybe Peter wasn’t warm enough.

Tony doesn’t sleep at all that night.


	2. Being Your (Own) Hero

“Hey!” There is an echoing metallic clang of tools being dropped onto a table. “Surprised?” ... _The hell?_

“Oh, hey, Pete. I didn’t hear you come in.” _Who the…_

“It’s over. I’ve got you.” _Kid? What’s he doing?_

“You know, I gotta tell you, Pete… I really, really admire your grit. I see why Liz likes you.” _...Who the hell’s Liz?_

“When you first came to the house, I wasn’t sure. I thought, ‘Really?’ But I get it now.” _Tony sees none other than Adrian Toomes leaning casually against a table, getting closer as he (no, Peter) stalks forward. He feels Peter’s breath puff against the fabric of his mask, hearing how their voices echoed around what must’ve been some abandoned place underground._

“How could you do this to her?” Peter stops, a good distance away from Toomes _. Tony’s gaze catches briefly on a thin metal support beam before it’s returned to Toomes; Tony wonders where they are, and why Peter seemed to be having a rather calm conversation with the Vulture, a criminal._

“To her? I’m not doing anything to her, Pete. I’m doing this for her.” _Tony realizes, with a jolt, that Toomes knew exactly who Peter was, under the mask._

Peter scoffs. “Yeah.” _Tony feels Peter’s muscles shift, his right arm raising to fire his webshooter, pinning one of Toomes’ hands to the table. For a second, Tony revels in the feeling of Peter's young enhanced body, how the lithe and strong muscles move so easily with the teenager's thoughts, and he wonders if that's how all the enhanced people he knew felt - all the raw compact power packed in their normal looking bodies, the power to bend solid steel with just the press of their fingers, power Tony was only able to achieve with a shell of metal around him._

Toomes sighs in exasperation. “Peter… You’re young. You don’t understand how the world works.” _Peter’s mind briefly wonders why it was so easy to catch Toomes in his web, why Toomes wasn’t even struggling, but he pushes the thought aside, ready to fire back with a remark of his own. Tony hates the way Toomes says Peter’s name._

“Yeah, but I understand that selling weapons to criminals is wrong.” Peter spreads his arms wide, punctuating the last word with a firm point at Toomes. _Why is Peter just standing and having a chat with this criminal?_

“How do you think your buddy Stark paid for that tower?” Peter turns his head to the side, looking away from Toomes. _Tony feels Peter’s irritation rise, sparking like a live wire, and Peter’s mind snarls:_ **You do NOT talk about Mr. Stark like that.**

“Or any of his little toys? Those people, Pete, those people up there, the rich and the powerful, they do whatever they want. Guys like us… Like you and me… They don’t care about us. We build their roads, and we fight all their wars and everything, but they don’t care about us. We have to pick up after them. We have to eat their table scraps. That’s how it is. I know you know what I’m talking about, Peter.”

 **Lies. Mr. Stark is NOT that kind of person. I’ve heard enough.** _Tony feels Peter’s absolute confidence and trust in Tony burn into a proud, roaring fire inside Peter, giving him newfound strength._ “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand. And… I needed a little time to get her airborne.” Toomes lifts his free hand, clicking a button on a remote.

_A sharp bolt of alarm runs through Peter, warning him of imminent danger, and he whips around, spotting Toomes’ mechanical wings screaming through the air towards him. Nimbly, Peter bends his knees and leaps, rolling his body into a backflip in the air and landing in a crouch. Distantly, Peter’s enhanced hearing picks up the noise of Toomes using a knife to slice through the webbing holding him prisoner to the table, but Peter is just slightly overwhelmed by how loud the wingsuit is as it hurls through the air. He fires his webs at a thick support column, landing on it briefly and quickly flipping away when the wingsuit charges at Peter, slicing through the concrete when it misses. Peter hears it coming back at him again and fires a web at the ceiling, using it to hop onto the wingsuit and push it towards the ground with his whole weight; it tumbles through the air like a bird with a broken wing, smashing into the wall._

“I’m sorry, Peter.” **What?** _Sorry for what?_

Peter senses the wingsuit coming back once again and ducks just in time, flattening himself to the ground and swiftly rolling out of the way.

“What are you talking about? That thing hasn’t even touched me yet.” _Tony feels Peter’s adrenaline running through his veins like an unstoppable drug, pure childlike pleasure and pride at being able to keep himself from harm’s way hindering Peter's ability to critically assess the situation. Brain whirling, Tony realizes just before Toomes speaks: It was never aiming for Peter._

“True. Then again… Wasn’t really trying to.”

Peter spins around, eyes following the wingsuit as it smashes through the last few intact concrete support columns. **Oh shit.** He raises his hands on instinct to protect his head when the ceiling caves in, tonnes of concrete and steel dropping directly onto the helpless teenager. _In that moment, Tony realizes exactly what Peter had meant when he had once said that his senses were dialed to eleven, as the sound of thick concrete and screeching metal crumbling down momentarily sends Peter (and Tony) into a state of shock from sensory overload._

When the dust settles, Peter is trapped under the mangled ruins of the building from his neck down. _Tony, still reeling from the onslaught of sound and sensation, thanks every god he doesn’t believe in for keeping Peter’s head from being buried and curses Adrian Toomes with the most creative curse words his scrambled mind can think of, with the same breath._

Peter grunts, bravely trying to pull himself from the rubble. _As he struggles, Tony feels an alarmingly jagged plate of thick metal pressing into Peter’s side. Peter’s body is sandwiched between one block of concrete under him and two (one being yet another block of concrete, the other being a metal structure of some sort, equally as heavy in weight) above._ Peter pushes with all his strength against the rubble - _once, twice, three times_ \- grunting with the effort. The cheap mask he had on that limited his senses to help him focus is suddenly too constrictive, and Peter reaches up with shaking hands to tug it off, dropping it quickly and gasping in lungfuls of dusty air. _Peter’s panic rises and bubbles from instinct, sweeping through his mind and body with reckless abandon._ **I’m trapped.**

“Okay, ready?” **C’mon, you gotta get yourself out of here.** _Peter shoves a flimsy, makeshift lid over his fear and pain, rallying all of his enhanced strength to push once more at the rubble burying him alive. It doesn’t move and the sharp metal presses deeper into his side, not cutting into his skin yet but probably enough to bruise. Tony is overwhelmed yet again, this time by Peter’s emotions: pure unfiltered fear, pain, panic - and so much of it, that it instantly shoves all of the thoughts from his mind and replaces them with despair and helplessness._

“Hello? Hello!” Peter screams, voice desperate. “Please, hey. Hey, please. I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck. I’m stuck, I can’t move, I can’t…” Peter trails off, running out of breath, panting against the concrete below him. _Tony is struck with regret (It’s all my fault. I would’ve known if I didn’t take his suit away and I could’ve prevented all of this, it’s all my fault.) so strong, he wants to cry. Or maybe it was Peter who wanted to cry._ **I can’t get out of this. Even my strength isn’t enough. I’m stuck, I’m going to die here, and no one is going to know. It hurts. It hurts so much. Someone, anyone, please help me. Please, I’m stuck, I can’t move, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t**

Peter pants, slowly raising his head. _Tony sees the mask from the cheap suit he had called a onesie, the one he saw when he had gone to Peter’s house, half buried in a puddle of water. He should’ve known Peter would go out and be Spiderman anyway, even without the suit. The other half of the water reflects Peter’s face, and he’s terrified, hair disheveled and covered with concrete dust. A voice echoes in Peter’s head - “If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” - and Peter inhales a determined breath._ **Okay.** _He pushes down his pain and panic, using his fear to fuel his determination and lend him strength._

“Come on, Peter. Come on, Spiderman. Come on, Spiderman.” Peter’s voice wavers, but grows stronger with each word. “Come on, Spiderman.” He pushes upward, through the pain, through the fear, through the panic. The concrete groans, slowly yielding. “Come on, Spiderman!” Peter yells, his body shaking so hard he was afraid it might give up on him, but he continues pushing, rolling his legs underneath himself to stand. **Come on come on come on come on come on**

Peter yells into the dark night as he shoves the rubble towards the sky with newfound fury and energy. Concrete rains around him as it is displaced by the two giant pieces of rubble he’s lifting, and he gives one last grunt of effort before he flips them behind him. Coughing and panting, Peter climbs onto the pile, sitting briefly to assess the damage. **Ouch. Geez, everything hurts. Don’t see any blood, I don’t think I sliced myself open, yay. Ribs hurt like hell, hope I didn’t break any. Wait I don’t have time for this, Toomes is after Mr. Stark’s plane!** _Tony knows all too well how it feels to have cracked ribs, and he’s sure Peter has at least two cracked ribs, judging from the pain he’s feeling along with Peter._ Peter turns his head towards a nearby billboard and sees Toomes perched on top with his metal wings folded around him. **Oh, found him.**

 _Peter faintly hears Toomes cheer “Oh yeah” as his metal wings spread for takeoff. He sprints in Toomes’ direction, shooting webs to swing up onto the billboard._ **I’ve gotta stop him.**

 

Tony sits up with a gasp, heart fluttering wildly in his chest like a caged bird. Pain is not a stranger to his battered body, and he feels the echoes of phantom pain in his side, his ribs aching as if they had taken a really bad hit. He knows that this pain never belonged to him, but that only makes it more painful.

_If I could take this pain and make it my own, I would._

Even before Tony makes the conscious decision to go to Peter’s room, his feet are already stumbling down the hall. A small part of his mind reminds him that confronting Peter in the middle of the night, especially when Peter is sleeping, is nowhere near a good idea, but the other part, the louder part, says _Screw that. I need to know why the kid didn’t bother telling me he nearly died trapped under a building that was dropped on him, because of me. Now._

Despite his furious desire to have a _word_ with Peter, Tony imagines the teenager sprawled in bed, snoring lightly with his mouth open, stubbornly messy brown curls splayed all over the pillow. He pauses in the dimly lit hallway (courtesy of the ever intelligent FRIDAY), lowering the hand he didn’t realize was clutching his side like he’d actually been hurt.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, his mind at war with itself over the two options he had. When he realizes his racing heart would never slow until he could see Peter alive and well with his own eyes, Tony straightens his back, determined. He takes the last few steps to Peter’s room, silently pushing the door open and slipping in.

Peter is, just as Tony imagined, sprawled on the bed. His eyes are closed but he’s frowning lightly, as if his body was waking up and he didn’t want it to be, clinging desperately to unconsciousness.

Absolutely endeared, Tony steps closer, sitting down on the bed. Unable to resist, his hand reaches out, lightly prodding the sleeping teenager. Peter’s eyebrows pull together in sleepy confusion, half awake, barely reacting to Tony’s calloused fingers pressing into his side. Tony sighs in relief, the sound audible.

“You okay?” Peter hums.

“Peachy. Any reason why you’re asking?”

“Considering how your heartbeat only started slowing once you’ve thoroughly poked at all my ribs…” Peter mumbled, words slow and languid, trailing off mid sentence with a yawn.

“Uh, that’s creepy, you can hear my heartbeat?”

“Mm. Super hearing? Heard you wake up. Was gon’a get up but… ‘m tired.”

Peter’s words are barely audible, his exhaustion dripping from every syllable, and Tony feels so guilty for taking away his time to sleep.

As if sensing his hesitation, Peter forces his eyes open, blinking blearily up at Tony. “So,” he prompts, curious.

“When were you planning on telling me about having a building dropped on you?” Tony asks, tone deceptively light and casual.

Peter’s whole body tenses, muscles locking. Tony doesn’t miss the way Peter tries to subtly pull his spread out limbs closer to himself.

“I,” Peter grits out, voice shaking, “Don’t want to talk about that.”

“You almost died and you don’t want to talk about it,” Tony snips, temper flaring.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Peter repeats in a timidly weak voice.

“Okay, fine.” Tony notices Peter trembling, and makes an effort to soften his tone. “But you have to tell me these things, okay? Better yet, make a habit of calling me when you need help. I took away the suit, that’s on me, I’m sorry--” The rest of Tony’s words die on his tongue as realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. “...What did you see.”

“Hm?” Peter blinks up at Tony in confusion.

“What did you dream about yesterday, kid.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh. Yesterday. I, uh…”

Tony pins Peter with a stern, less than patient gaze.

“...New York,” Peter finally whispers, and Tony feels his heart sink to his feet.

Inhaling sharply, Tony harshly drags a hand down his face. He turns away from Peter, pushing his face into his hands briefly before shoving his fingers up through his hair, movements sharp and jerky. “Any chance you could forget all that?”

“Nope,” Peter answers, stretching the last syllable into a drowsy sigh, eyes slipping shut.

“Goes against my image,” Tony mutters, tone half-heartedly joking, “Self sacrifice isn’t my thing.”

“You’re a hero, Mr. Stark. You save the world,” Peter mumbles with absolute conviction, like he was reciting a fact from a textbook, even as he teeters at the edge of unconsciousness.

Tony feels an intense wave of affection for Peter, the one person who believed in him more than Tony would ever believe in himself.

Peter’s eyelashes flutter, soft brown eyes sleepily peering up at Tony like the billionaire had personally hung the sun, stars, and moon in the sky. He smiles, softly, adorably, and whispers, “Tony Stark is a hero.”

“Not Iron Man?”

“He’s cool too.”

“You’re really buttering me up today, aren’t you, kid.”

“‘s wha’ I believe. Not changin’ my mind.”

Tony blinks furiously. _I am not going to cry. Tony Stark doesn’t cry._

Peter reaches out a hesitant hand, fingertips lightly grazing Tony’s wrist. “Stay?”

The thought of leaving had never crossed his mind. “Of course. But.”

“Mm?”

“You have to promise me you’ll call me if you get hurt or need help.”

Peter hesitates, just for a split second. “I promise.”

“Good.”

The instant Tony is under the covers, Peter is pressing himself to the billionaire, barely hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

“Lordy, you’re an octopus.”

“Spider,” Peter corrects with a happy sigh.

“Same difference, eight sticky arms-- legs-- _appendages,”_ Tony quips, glancing down to find Peter already passed out, breathing deep and even.

“Sweet dreams, Pete,” Tony whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s hair. Asleep, Peter nuzzles impossibly closer, and Tony lets himself smile.


End file.
